


Disrespect

by raptatta



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: IM SHAMEFUL, M/M, REALLY SHAMEFUL, Threesomes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 04:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raptatta/pseuds/raptatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Judal is missing when he slams open the door and ignores the protest of picture frames on the wall as he glares at the empty, messy space of his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disrespect

**Author's Note:**

> yeah. yeah. just two brothers and a magi. i am so outta here

Kouha is done.

Judal is _missing_ when he slams open the door and ignores the protest of picture frames on the wall as he glares at the empty, messy space of his bed. It’s too early, too late, too in between for him to be awake, and he thinks he looks terrible: hair knotted and tied into a messy bun as he breathes heavily through his nose and lets out a groan. Everyone... almost, is asleep, and he’d rather not wake _anyone_ in his family up at such an early time of the morning. Especially on a day like _this._

He closes Judal's door softly and turns around, staring down the hall. Leaning against the door, he promptly slaps his hand to his forehead. Multiple times.

He was supposed to be with _him_. Last night was a terrible night, when Koubun came to them holding a very _defeated_ and annoyed Magi, Kougyoku marching past them with an irritated _sigh_. He was told _specifically_ to watch him. Only because Judal was the only one that really listened to him on a daily basis, not particularly afraid of the Ren family but _owned_ by them, maybe... But he’s gone, and he’s fucked up, and–-

“ _Kouen!_ ” Kouha shrieks, marching down the hall as he ignores the distressed, alarmed faces of the maids rousing themselves from sleep and starting their court of morning work. Rain pours thickly against the high arched windows of the corridor and he ignores it as the damp pads of his feet echo across the floor. Kouen's door is closed, luckily, and Kouha is _angry_ as he grabs the brass knuckles and swings them both open with blunt, obnoxious force. “Brother, our attendant is–-“

Any word dies in his throat almost immediately.

Done? Make that _finished_. There may be a very few influx of reasons why his temper ever rises to the point where he can feel the _heat_ on his face but this? This... is enough, and dumbfounded, Kouha stands in the middle of Kouen's doorway wearing nothing but the only robe he owns, and one! _One_ missing stocking. _Judal_ isn’t missing, though, and the only reason why is because he’s just been found.

Perched in Kouen's lap.

This would’ve usually been fine if it was someone else, of course, maybe not Koumei-- because Kouha would gut someone _alive_ if they ever touched him without permission, but it’s Kouen! Suddenly all his patience wears thin, too much at once. He’s speechless for a whole... what, five seconds? before he’s startled out of his trance when Judal shifts down his brothers body and greets him with a cherry, satisfied: Good morning, prince Kouha!”

“What the hell are you doing,” Kouha flatly snaps.

He can see Judal's fingers toying with Kouen's messy, deep red hair and it is a _complete_ turn off, eyes glaring pathetic daggers into Judal's which, languidly, gaze back at him. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Kouha,” Kouen rouses, and his glance breaks for a minute as he sighs and rolls his eyes. “Should you not be asleep?”

“Well I _was!_ ” He argues. “But then I woke up to readjust and,“ he looks at Judal, “ _you_ weren’t there! And, and where do I find you? Here!” He groans and points at Kouen stark in the face. “In _your_ lap!”

“In my lap,” his brother repeats, and with a ragged yell, Kouha replies with a frantic “Yes!”

Some people need to be reminded of why this is the reason he hates sharing, or having boundaries in general. Kouha hates people. He hates a lot of things about them, and more respectively, he hates the smug grin on Judal's face when he kisses Kouen's ear softly and mouths his way down his neck. He feels like he's just walked into a blender. 

“Well,” Kouen says, and it’s a pity how he can’t see his face from here. “You were looking for the Magi, correct? He’s right here, is he not? Albeit sitting on top of me, of course, but what did you expect? He wouldn’t leave for Sindria again so soon... if that was what you suspected.”

“I hate that place,” Judal says.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kouha says, grinding his teeth together as he closes the door and strides through the room, mindful of all the long scrolls of paper draped over the tables and chairs. Work: things he doesn’t want to do, and he makes a face at all of it as he turns on his heel to push his way past Kouen's desk. “You’re coming back to _my_ room and off my brothers dick, do you understand?”

Judal stares at him and frowns. “ _Ugh_ , why do you always have to be such an asshole when Koumei isn’t–-“

Kouha ignores Kouen's softening expression when he grabs the long, uneven braid of Judal's hair and tugs on it. “ _Now_.”

He’s hardly ever in this bad of a mood. It’s so rare to see. Even when he’s in the presence of Ja’far he’s not this pissy, but today is apparently an exception. Judal usually likes it when people pull his hair, but _that_ changes too, what with how he lets out a wobbly groan in discomfort and begins to remove himself from the comfortable, soft lap of the older Ren. “Jesus Christ, _fine_ –“

Kouen gives Kouha a sharp look. “I didn't say you could come and take him. You can go control your anger somewhere else, can't you?”

“Please! This is no time for you to start getting generous,” he replies coldly. “I thought you didn’t _like_ having snotty little whores in your lap unless it’s Koumei, or... or someone else! Even Kougyoku, don’t you like her?” He tugs on Judal's braid again. “I say because Koubun will be so pissed with me if he discovers I’m getting rusty.”

“Koubun won’t even care,” Judal groans, leaning against his shoulder. “If _Koubun_ doesn’t care, why on earth would you, this is the most stupidest thing I’ve ever had to hear.”

“Shut up,” says Kouha in defense. “If I would’ve known any better you just want to be between his legs.”

“True,” the Magi says with defiance. He looks at Kouen, who-- quite honestly, resembles that of someone who is about to burst. “Wouldn’t _you_ , though?”

Wouldn’t he? Perhaps, but not like this, only when Kouen _wants_ him to act like a dirty slut, tells him to right in his face. Certainly though, right now, Kouha doesn’t have the patience to deal with _any_ tricks, because he knows his brother will try something dense... tell him to stay, that he wants a show, and he isn’t having any of it. He’d rather drag Judal to his bedroom by himself, ruin the bed and kick him around, telling him how much he disappoints him sometimes rather than do it in front of everyone else.

But no, he’s a little wrong.

“I suppose,” Kouen says, smoothing a rough palm through his hair and cutting his eyes dangerously, “you would, Kouha. And judging by your current wear, it may be suitable for you to stay.”

Kouha stares at him. “Brother, you–-“

“Stay,” the older man says, and so he does.

Judal looks like he just won an award, and he would be _dancing_ in victory if it wasn’t for the fact that Kouen was being so serious. He eyes Kouha down uncomfortably for a moment before switching his gaze to Judal, who pries the fingers in his hair loose and drapes himself over the chairs arm. “Oh, the big man finally says something,” he adds, pursing his lips. “Are you angry?”

“Not at all.”

“No, he most definitely is,” Kouha says, quietly. Suddenly he feels a little small, and the anger dissipates to a tiny little thing that exists, but barely. He pulls his hand away from Judal reluctantly and holds his tongue. “Kouen, please, I really don’t-–“

“What have I told you about disrespecting the Magi,” Kouen says, pausing for a moment to analyze him. “If I say he stays, he stays. If you disobey me, though, what have I told you, Kouha?”

Kouha goes quiet. “Kouen...“

“ _What_ ,” Kouen says, “have I told you?”

He’s been told lots of things. He throws people around all the time, makes it look like it wasn’t his fault, and behind doors, Judal is almost as willing as he always is. Favoring the tiny bruises he can make, running his hands down them like they’re prizes he's won. But in front of Kouen, it’s value that matters, and Kouha swallows down the lump in his throat as he chews on his lip. “You would put me in my place?”

Kouen's eyebrow raises slowly in interest. “What else?”

Judal jumps up suddenly. “Oh, oh, let me see,” and he begins to count his fingers, smirking. The smile that everyone hates, the one thing about him that no one can stand. “If you use the Magi, be prepared to be used by the Magi. For the–-“

“The Magi is everything,” Kouha mutters. He turns his chin up and sighs, averting his gaze. He doesn’t want to look at the red, the black, the ink in between, the piercing stare of _his_ king. “I guess I better start taking my clothes off, then...“

A little too soon to guess, a little too soon to predict–- that no, it’s not something Kouen wants, or something he asked for at all, really. Maybe later, he would, but Kouen is displeased with the pace. Immediately, he knows, it wasn’t a good day at all to begin with and he pulled a _real_ dumb move, there, grappling at the magician like some toy when he wasn’t supposed to. When Kouen shakes his head and pushes his fist against his cheek, all he can do is wait.

“No,” he says. “ _You_ aren’t, but he,“ he points at Judal slowly, “can. I don’t want you to say a word. If he asks you to do anything, I want you to do what he says, understood?”

Kouha wants to strangle something.

Judal is an obedient fucking dog in front of every single one of them, and he’s a conniving little shit, for sure. But he likes him, a little, at least. But he wants to _hit_ him or something, hang off his arm and call him sweet little names rather than have his hands on him _now_ , and although Kouen knows this, he doesn’t say anything. All he does is sit there looking bored.

Judal's hand touches his face and teeth briefly touch his neck, stinging with burn and putrid _dominance_. He whispers, sticky and hot, “Aren’t you in shit, huh, princess?”

Of course.

To disrobe him, it’s easy-- all Judal has to do is drag his hands down and pull the tie free, let it fall loose against his body, ghost fingers over his collar and down his chest, pushing the sleeves off his arms. Kouha has his eyes closed for the most part, anyway, even when he feels his skin hit the open air, even when he hears Kouens low hum of appreciation, Judal's hands everywhere, on his stomach and past his spine and over the prominent bones of his hips. He doesn’t dare open them, even when lips press urgent to his shoulder, down his freckled back.

But then, suddenly, it stops.

Kouen looks calm, now. “In a few minutes time, I would’ve had this in front of me. But not you. You would’ve still been asleep, brother. A few mistakes can change a lot, can’t they?”

Judal bites into the back of his neck and rubs circles into his waist. “Can we have him?”

His lip twitches. Kouha feels like he wants to die. He squeezes his eyes shut and prays that he can just go back to bed, forget everything that happened. “I can touch myself in front of you, I can do anything, just... please, get his hands off of me.“

Kouen grabs his jaw roughly with his hand and yanks him forward, and it throbs, painfully, as he stumbles out of Judal's grip and opens his eyes, startled. It was the wrong thing to say. Even like this, he knows Judal won't stop touching him. Because he feels so much more vulnerable like this. Because anything can happen. This isn't the same, but is-- and oh, how it's apparent on his face how he silently begs for it. He wishes Koumei were here, that Koumei could slam the door open and say urgent business needed him but no, it doesn’t happen, and Kouha is so hard, writhing when Judal touches him. “Repeat yourself.”

“I said,” Kouha sighs out, “I don’t want him to–-“

Kouen backhands him. 

The ringing in his ear is so fierce that it knocks his senses off for a moment, and the blood pounds hard and fast as the slap resonates through the room. Judal cackles, low and husky as he leans over his back and hums against his neck, and Kouha grits his teeth, trying to suppress the moan that threatens to break out. He hates it! He doesn’t want anyone to hear it, and he doesn’t say anything, eyesight blurry and unfocused for a moment.

That hurt. He looks at Kouen with the slightest tear in his eye.

“He will touch you if he wants,” Kouen says, amused, but dark. And oh, does it vibrate through him like a chorus, a mantra of soft music that travels through his system like silk. Things are now much, much different than a few seconds ago, and Kouha suddenly almost wants to turn around and yell at Judal for not touching him this time. “Me, on the other hand...“

Kouhas cheek throbs as he smiles tenderly and leans his hands against the others knees. Time for a slight game changer. He puts on another face-- pretends to act like he wasn't the spoiled brat he was just a few moments ago.“Oh, brother... please, tell me what you want.“

“God, you’re such a slut,” Judal groans. “I’m not _this_ bad. I don’t instantly have the hots for family when they _hit_ me. You’re very much like Kougyoku in a way, I guess. She never shuts up.”

He doesn’t want to think about Kougyoku _now_. “I can... I told you I’d touch myself. You can always hit me again, you know.”

But it’s not as fun when he doesn’t deserve it. He tightens his grasp on Kouen's knee and wishes he didn't have to wait so long to process what he would say, what would sound appropriate. You can throw him around, tell him he’s worthless, call him every name in the book, but nothing gets him more riled up then when his brothers hit him, punish him for doing something brash. Everything about how he didn’t want it flies straight out the window, a distant memory he’d rather not remember, and... Kouha feels ridiculously _stupid._

As always.

Kouen shifts closer, and his hands are large and lovely. They reach up, pull the bun free, watch as red and pink fall in heavy, messy strands over his shoulders, and it’s so long now that Kouha's eyesight is striped magenta as fingers curl into his tresses and pull him forward.

Lips whisper against his jaw, “You’ve been bad, little brother. Do you know what happens to boys who are bad?”

Kouha swallows nervously and arches back. Funny, how Judal doesn’t feel foreign anymore now that he’s warm all over. When the Magi drags his hips back and rolls him, soft and slow, Kouha wants to scream! Touch me, please, because I can’t myself and if I do... if I do, I’ll never see the end of day. He wants to claw and kick his way into pleasure and he gasps, letting out a slight moan–- a smile peeking out of the dark when Kouen hums gently. 

“I could wash your mouth out with soap,” he says. “I could shove it down your throat. Clean your pretty lips and you’d never swear again. You’d gag on the fact that you couldn’t get the taste out of your mouth for days. But I think...“ and this is what he waits for, straining against the arousal that clouds and blooms in the pit of his stomach, “I think that soap just won’t do the trick.”

Kouhas breath hitches. “Yes, brother... please, brother--“

“Suck him off,” Judal whispers in his ear. “Get on your knees–- I’ll fuck you, if the king wants. You can have me at one end and him on the other, and it’d be good punishment for pulling my hair, right? If he pulled yours, if I could finally have you to myself. I was so close before, and you’d like it, wouldn’t you..?”

He nods, frantic as he already begins to push away the annoying fabric of his brothers sash, peeling away the pockets and the string, getting him undone. Wanting him out. “Yeah, I– I’d like it, please, this is too much for me to bear, Koumei... Koumei always told me it’d be this bad but I never–-“

“Tell him what you want,” says Kouen, and he’s pushing his head down, forcing him to bend not just his knees, buckling as he stands there, trying not to fall, to try and support his weight. He can’t sit, he has to use his feet, and it’s a pain-– something that makes this a little less pleasurable, but.. “Clearly, so that we can both hear. Spread your legs, too.”

He obeys. The backs of his knees sting as he lowers and bends himself, flexible enough to withstand the position as he fishes his brothers cock out of his pants. And oh, how big he is... how Kouen can hardly fit in his hand, hard and wet as he pants and tries to adjust to the uncomfortable angle his neck sits at as he wiggles and trembles in pain. “I– I want you to–-“

Judal separates his skin and he didn’t even notice him undress–- not until at least he’s pressed against Kouha's ass, rutting slowly, stomach pushed against his lower spine. Judal has a nice dick, he won’t deny. It's tan unlike the rest of him, strange to see, but sometimes he’d rather have that in his mouth above all else. “You want me to--?”

“Fuck,” Kouha breathes, lapping at Kouen's arousal as he strokes it with his hand. “Fuck me, I want you to fill me up, treat me like a whore... stuff my face with cock or stuff _me_ , I don’t care, hit me-– hurt me, use me, please–-“

Kouen smiles and urges his hips forward slowly. “‘Atta boy. You can handle this, can’t you, Magi?”

Perhaps, Judal can. He's able to, and he will, and he wants to, and that’s what he’s getting ready to do–- sloppily, but successfully. He reaches back, hand dragging along the oak of Kouen's desk as he pulls open the drawers and searches for _something_ , that bottle of aloe that they use time from time for natural remedies. It’s slick, and wet, but cold when Judal pops the cap open and coats himself with it, rubbing slowly against his entrance. “How long has it been since he’s been taken?”

Kouha struggles, Kouen shrugs.

Not too long, he guesses, but enough, and he hates it, how Kouen sees right through him. He’s busy trying to lick at the head of him, push him past his lips and get used to the size, and he know he won’t have long when the hand starts to push him down again. But he loves it, loves the strain–- the stretch, that _full_ feeling, like he’ll choke any minute. “I don’t know. A few weeks at best. You won’t hurt him.”

“I can, though,” Judal says. He rubs hard circles into his hips, already beginning to push in, gentle at first. And he hates that, _hates_ the gentle part. “I won’t... but I can. Unless he wants it. But his mouth might be too full for him to _tell_ me.”

He wants to scream.

He wants to... he needs... he’s so _aroused_ he will burst and–-

Kouha does yell around what’s in his mouth when Judal snaps his hips forward and pushes all the way inside him, the stretch burning uncomfortably for a moment after being so long without someone in him. The pain is the edge, the groan that dribbles out of him, and at the same time, Kouen twists his fingers into his hair and presses his head down, pushing his cock against the roof of his mouth. Kouha blinks his eyes closed and chokes for a second, curling his fingernails violently into his thigh.

He’s in heaven.

His legs ache, his shoulders burn, and he feels good. Looks good like this. He really is in heaven this time, bliss spreading throughout his senses as he urges his hips back and moans in appreciation around Kouen, thrusting slowly into his mouth. It’s not like he hasn’t been treated like this before. Of course he has, but never by two people. He once took two into his mouth at the same time... once, when he was 16, but that was awhile ago–- and never would he have ever imagined the overwhelming sensation of having each end so _full_. It's difficult to breathe-- his nose being his only source for breath as he swallows, heavily, nearly choking-- but..

Judal loves it.

Maybe it’s because he’s so used to being everyone's bitch, that’s why–- including Kouen's, and Kouha willingly takes advantage of the fact that he still is. Teeth bite deep into the back of his neck, the other boys long hair falling in braids against his shoulder, and he reaches up, tangling it in his hand and pulling him forward. Judal presses against him back, warm and leaving soft bruises in his porcelain hips, and it feels good–- being able to grab onto something...

“Fuck,” Kouen whispers against him. “It feels nice, but..."

 _But?_ Kouha yelps when Judal pushes into him again, bottoming out in an instant.

“I like watching him beg,” he continues. “It makes me uncomfortable when he’s quiet. Judal.”

Soft breath pours over his skin as Judal leans his forehead in and nuzzles him lovingly, the slow roll of his hips torturous and _agonizing_. His voice is strained, bratty and laced with cocky arrogance as he speaks, answering Kouen immediately. Kouha's stomach twists, and he hates how it’s as if everything has stopped. He wants to cry, yell, snap, _fuck me– please_. “Yeah–-“

Kouen lets out a rough groanand yanks the only braid in his hair free, watching the quick disappointment on his face. “I don’t think he likes what you’re doing. Go slower.”

So he does. He’s sobbing, he can feel it, the damp wetness of his cheeks when Kouen tugs rough at his scalp and forces the goddamn oxygen out of him. Judal grabs his hips, tugging him back slowly, pulling back to eagerly slide back in and squeeze through and he’s trembling when he can finally breathe, face red, eyebrows knit, skin flushed. The thrusts have no rhythm, but each one is a drawl of pleasure–- and he almost doesn’t notice his teeth worrying into his lip when Kouen is no longer in his mouth again but rubbing against his cheek, sticky and hot.

He can only imagine, just what he looks like.

 _Koumei_ looks like a whore between his legs sometimes, judging on what mood he's in. It appears that all three of them–- or, just the Kou family in general, has that look about them. The looks that make it seem like they could be good at everything, and not just because they’re rich. They hold a reputation, he thinks. That no matter who it is, they’ll always look the best sucking cock, but maybe it’s just his opinion. Maybe Kouha is far too enveloped in his own virtues to care.

But at least, he must look like he’s desperate, begging for it. And he is. Kouen is heavy and he loves it, every last inch, as he backs up and rolls his hips with less grace than he’d hope to ever have. He wants it. Hee needs it, and please, “I know I’ve been bad, brother, I’ll never treat the Magi with disrespect again, please just–-“

Judal speeds up, _slightly_ , and Kouha is suffocating, strangled through choked groans as he bows his head and gently kisses at the base of his brothers cock, pushing insistently against his lips. It’s slick, rubbing against his mouth, pushing against his tongue, and he laps at like an obedient dog. “I want you to–-“

“ _Beg_ ,” Kouen snaps at him. It’s dark, his voice, lusty and rasped with pleasure and Kouha doesn’t think he could disobey, regardless of whether he wanted or not. 

He’s so stubborn, a greedy mess when he doesn’t get what he wants, but then Judal decides he’s had enough, grabbing the skin of his hips roughly and raising his hand, pale but _hard_ and, “ _Yes_ ,” Kouha groans, bucking forward, dripping over his own leg as he shakes with the crack of the Magi's hand against him. It stings, vibrates through his body, and he looks up at Kouen with hazy eyes. “Tell him to hit me again, tell him to pound me until I can’t walk, until I can’t see, until–-“

Kouen wets his lips and slides his hands out of his hair, using it _himself_ instead, to bite back his noises. He’s got a soft side, he knows, and Kouha is drooling everywhere, saliva beading and connecting as a string to the arousal against his mouth as he trembles. “Get him to prove it to me, that I’m... that I... that I have no place to tell him what to do, oh, _please_ –-“

_Please._

But it’s short lived.

He has Judal, he does, of course–- but he forgets sometimes, the effect he has on Kouen, and just why he asks for the things he does. Kouen _likes_ hearing him like this, Kouen likes seeing him being fucked slow, tortured and reduced to a sobbing mess, Kouen likes seeing his face dirtied. He thrusts his hips, coming hard, in his hair and down his cheeks, over his lips, parted slowly, and Kouha can’t _stop_ the smile as he strokes his brother in time with the ripples of pleasure, the shake of his hips.

Judal, on the other hand, has lost it.

Judal is _gone_ , close but still far and that’s when he really starts, when he slams his hips forward so suddenly that he falls all over Kouens lap and keens, jaw falling open. He’s never felt so full, even with nothing in his mouth, and this time the warm hands rubbing into his hair rather than pulling are more pleasurable than usual. It hurts, it feels good-– it’s all too much, and he’s so close, whimpering and losing his voice and _ah_ , “Judal– Judal–! _Judal!_ ”

White coats his vision and Kouha's body goes slack, his fingers tightening as he gasps and spills over the edge. He loses sense, Kouen's arms hoisting under his arm to keep him from falling, and it’s strong, his orgasm, as the sensation of Judal's cock working inside him ebbs away. He slumps over like a rag doll until all feeling comes back, and he turns his head to the side, watching the other boys concentrated expression. He feels as though he was just brought back, and still, yet–- so still–-

He’s glad Judal comes close, too, because it’s all too much all at once. It’s warm, usually, but it’s hot when he comes inside, pushing in with a strangled groan and clawing at his waist, hunched over his back. Kisses press messy and wet to the back of his neck and Kouen is more restrained, rubbing his shoulder and wiping his face. Kouha cannot breathe. 

“ _God_ ,” Judal says, rolling his hips one final time before pulling out of him. It’s slow, and he doesn’t like it, his weak moan being enough to prove it. He’s too empty. He hates it. “That... was _nice._ ”

But Kouen is concerned. A little.

Kouha feels like he’s going to _pass out._

“I think we exhausted him,” Kouen's blurry voice says from above, and Kouha's voice trembles as he struggles to push himself up. His thighs are incredibly wet and his face burns with red hot shame, sweat coating his face. His brother, sticking to his lips and his hair. “He’s... you bruised him! _Lovely._ ”

“I didn’t try! _You_ got it in his hair!”

“You came inside,” Kouen says, and he’s got a point. He plays with the few, dry strands of red that he finds and twirls them around his finger. “But that’s not a problem, I don’t think.” Then, he pauses, silence falling heavily over them, and Kouha can hear the shift of Judal struggling to tuck himself away again and pull his pants back on. “Kouha.”

_What._

“Kouha,” Kouen says, stroking his face and using his sleeve to clean it. “Are you alright?”

“Just fine,” he replies. “Please, toss me over your shoulder. Throw me in a _lake._ I’m going to die. I hurt all over. Thanks.”

A lake wouldn’t be as nearly good as an ocean, but he’s glad they do what he says. Kouen's back is warm and soft, unmarred by sharp nails and the like when Kouha slumps over his shoulder and relaxes, body dangling as arms tuck under his knees, draping a robe over his body. Judal's face is smug the last time he sees it, and he can’t even _remember_ what he said as he gives him a narrow, hollow look.

So that his brother doesn’t hear, see, sense, Kouha mouths to him: “I’ll make sure Koumei gets you back,” and enjoys watching the blood drain from his face.


End file.
